Saint Read Online A. Zavarelli books (Boston Underworld #4)

Categories Genre: Action, Alpha Male, Angst, Bad Boy, Crime, Dark, New Adult, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Boston Underworld Series by A. Zavarelli
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Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 91064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
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“You’re going to be sorry,” he grunts.

“That’s what they tell me,” I reply. “But I never am. Clock’s ticking, my friend. And I’m only going to warn you once, I’m rather short on patience.”

Teddy is quiet, but the gears turning in his pea sized brain are loud. He’s trying to conjure up a lie. Again, it’s downright formulaic the way they react to this scenario.

I sigh and lean back in my chair, crossing my legs. He looks at them and doesn’t hide it. He’s wondering what it’d be like to choke me and then fuck me. Show me who’s boss. If his eyes didn’t tell me so, his dick is talking plenty on its own.

I decide to raise.

“Fine, we’ll take it slow. That’s what you tell the girls, isn’t it? Before you tie them up and rail on them? I bet mummy wouldn’t be so fond of that little detail either.”

“Who the fuck are you?” he snarls.

“The only thing you need to be concerned with right now is your old Yale chums and their dirty laundry. You’ve got exactly five minutes to tell me what I want to know. And then you can skip along on your merry way, photos in hand.”

A lie, of course. What fun would that be for me?

“Come to think of it…” he says, and my heart beats a little faster. I want it so bad I can taste it, but I’ve got a good poker face, and Teddy here doesn’t know that yet.

“A few of them do look familiar,” the piece of shit says.

I grit my teeth together and stuff down the vile disappointment in my throat.

“They should, since they’re like a bad case of Syphilis on all of your social media accounts.”

His cheeks turn a little rosy at the trap he’s found himself in.

Lord, what fools these mortals be.

“A name, if you would be so kind.”

My voice is all sugar, and it honestly scares me how good I’ve become at the game. Sensei Scarlett is about to school the little grasshopper if he doesn’t catch a clue soon.

“I don’t know,” the moron continues on with his charade. His acting skills certainly leave something to be desired. “We met at a party in college. I was drunk. But I’m almost certain one of them works at The Hancock.”

“Don’t you mean Clarendon?” I correct.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” he agrees.

He’s cool as a cucumber as he says it, but beneath that staged expression, his hands are itching with the urge to pummel my face bloody. He would too if he could get loose.

“Gee, that’s super helpful,” I tell him with all the false excitement I can muster. “There are only like a bajillion stories in that building, right?”

His pleasantness slips back into the void in which it came from.

“Look, bitch, I don’t know what the fuck you want from me. I don’t know them.”

A resigned sigh ushers up from the cavity of my chest as I hang my head in my hands and cry crocodile tears.

“You’re right,” I whine. “I just feel so bad that I have to fuck you up anyway.”

“What?” he snarls.

I pull my hands away from my face and smile again.

“Don’t worry.” I toss the pictures back into my bag and exchange them for a set of brass knuckles instead. “We’ve moved past them. Long gone, they are.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing?” he asks, eyeing the metal glint against my hand.

“I’ve got a different name for you,” I tell him. “One that you should without a doubt remember. Let’s try Coco.”

He blinks and tries to maintain his cool, but his dick is twitching and growing at even the memory of it. Sick fucking bastard.

“Doesn’t ring any bells?” I frown.

“Nope, sorry,” he says. “Don’t know any fucking Coco.”

“Ah, well allow me to refresh your memory. You left the bar with her last week. Petite, black hair, big tits. She’s a beauty. Or at least she was until you broke her nose.”

He opens his mouth to protest, and I put a finger in front of my lips and shake my head.

“You like it rough.” I shrug. “You get off on it. Sometimes, things just get out of hand. Believe me, I get it. You can’t help yourself.”

His black eyes are boring right through me.

“The bad news for you,” I say finally. “Is neither can I.”

Trust fund Teddy bears the brunt of all his peers evil misdeeds.

The wild beating of my heart is its own war cry. The soundtrack to my savagery. The drum beat of rage as I fuck up his face and dole out my hatred. I don’t need words for this. Communication is best served primitive, in cases like this.

“Stop,” he begs. “Stop and I’ll fucking tell you.”

He broke faster than I’d hoped, but I give it a rest and take a breath.


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